


Wet & Wild

by Costellos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Grinding, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voltron NSFW Week 2017, Watersports, characters are 18+
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:32:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11873478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Costellos/pseuds/Costellos
Summary: Shiro is a gross horny boy and Pidge is more than happy to indulge him and his newfound kink.





	Wet & Wild

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is my first contribution to the VLD fandom. 
> 
> 1\. For Voltron NSFW Week Day 2 (Kink)  
> 2\. This isn't a kink of mine, so I'm hoping I didn't do too bad  
> 3\. You can yell at me @dadboyshiro on Tumblr

_“She must choose her target well; an animal on the outskirts of the herd that has let its vigilance slip. Wildebeests warn each other of danger, so she must approach unseen by the entire herd. Just one glance in her direction, one snort of alarm, will ruin the entire hunt.”_

Shiro yawns, flexing the fingers of his cybernetic hand along the back of the couch as he stretches, not unlike the large cat on the television screen. He tries to arch and crack his spine without bothering his tiny girlfriend who’s leaned up against him. It seems to work, because she doesn’t even notice that she’d been jostled a bit in his movements.

It’s been nearly two days since Pidge returned from her business trip to Washington D.C., and nearly a week since they’d last been intimate, the night before her early morning departure. Rather than make up for lost time, however, they’ve been marathoning YouTube clips of wildlife documentaries for the past hour and a half. Pidge is absolutely enthralled by them. Shiro, not so much.

“Huh. I really thought she’d get ‘em this time,” Pidge mumbles. She reaches to grab her phone from the coffee table. Shiro’s attention is split unevenly between the failed hunt on screen and the perfect view down the neck of Pidge’s loose tank top as she flits around on her phone in search of a new video; she’s not wearing a bra. Shiro’s cheek warm at the sight and he swallows hard, completely oblivious to Pidge’s disappointment in the lack of bloody carnage. He looks away when she settles back into his side.

“This one looks promising.”

“Yeah.”

Six years they’ve been together and Pidge still has a way of turning him into a timid schoolboy without even realizing it sometimes.

Shiro’s not usually like this, awkward and stiff around the woman whose habit of lounging around the house completely topless once used to scandalize him but now hardly even garners his acknowledgement; but then again, he’s not usually trying to keep himself from ravishing her when she’s so vulnerable and unaware, either. So he allows himself to indulge just a little bit, just this once, teasing the freckled skin of Pidge’s bare shoulder along the strap of her tank top with the flesh and blood hand he’s already got draped around her. Pidge, eyes blown wide and trained on the television, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Shiro isn’t sure how he should feel about his advances going unnoticed, but he doesn’t complain. He shouldn’t be bothering her right now, anyway.

He sighs.

It’s hard, sometimes, having to hold himself back.

As much as Shiro wants nothing more than to throw himself at her, he knows that Pidge is exhausted. Her work schedule has been hectic lately, ever since she started taking up contract work for Homeland Security; and while it usually takes a lot to wear Pidge out, those long business trips always seem to do the trick—and this last one had really drained the life out of her. Which sucks. Because Shiro’s really trying to be mindful and considerate, letting her rest, but it’s easier said than done when she’s just so tempting—and _close._

“Oh!” Pidge gasps, and the hand that had been tentatively stroking her shoulder jumps to the back of the couch as if it’d been burned. Shiro’s eyes snap to the television screen just in time to catch the gruesome scene of a gazelle’s neck being torn into by a lioness. He winces, the budding arousal that had been building up in his loins immediately dissipating at the grisly sight.

“Did you see that?” Pidge asks.

“Unfortunately,” Shiro answers under his breath. Pidge doesn’t seem to sense his discontent, still hyper-focused on the circle of life playing out in front of them. He frowns. “How can you watch this right now? It’s… depressing.”

Pidge shrugs. “Nature is depressing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Shiro reasons. “Here, how about we find some more of those rescue videos? With the abandoned dogs? Those were nice.”

“Yeah, because nobody _died.”_

“Is that so much of a bad thing?” He lifts a brow, hoping to get his point across without having to spell it out. His anxiety has been through the roof this week with having her away from home for so long, and these snuff clips aren’t exactly helping to console a week’s worth of nights spent tossing and turning. “Besides, I think we’ve already suffered through enough death and destruction for ten lifetimes.”

Pidge considers this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry,” she admits a bit sheepishly. Shiro tries to say something about how it’s alright, that he knows she’s just got a morbid sense of curiosity and that she wasn’t _trying_ to torment him, but his voice gets stuck in his throat at the sight of her bashful, lopsided grin. It’s dangerous how simultaneously adorable and enticing Pidge can be sometimes, even in just a tank top and a pair of his old boxers.

An all too familiar warmth begins to trickle down Shiro’s spine when Pidge’s hand suddenly finds his thigh. Unfortunately, it’s only for leverage to push herself to sit upright. She pauses the video and hands over her phone.

“I’m gonna get a drink first. You look for something to watch. Want anything?” She yawns. The television glare illuminating her sleepy features also frames the outline of her small breasts as she stretches, her tank top riding up to show off her stomach.

Shiro’s up before her feet even touch the floor.

“I’ll get it.”

“What? But—”

Just sit back and relax.”

“Shiro!”

He’s gone in an instant, tucked away safe and sound in their modest kitchen, far enough that he can think clearly again without the temptation that is Pidge, but not enough that he can’t hear her mumbling to herself about how strange he is. _“Get me a Coke!”_ she shouts. Right. He probably should’ve asked what she wanted before bolting off like that.

It’s only a matter of time before Pidge starts wondering about him, and he needs to get himself under control. So he paces the floor. Takes deep breaths. Even splashes cold water on his face for good measure. He thinks about Lance’s YouTube channel dedicated to dishing out questionable relationship advice, the failed Kerberos mission, how he needs to do laundry tomorrow; anything to help get himself back in line. He thinks about Commander Holt—no, Matt.

That helps.

“Shiro? You okay in there?”

“Yeah, just—give me a second!”

He almost forgets to grab Pidge’s soda before scrambling back for the living room, where he’s welcomed back with a suspicious brow and a half-hearted joke about having to send in a rescue team to make sure he was alright. He’d laugh if he weren’t busy trying not to seem _too_ suspect while she snuggles back into his side as if it’s where she belongs—which it is. But now might not exactly be the best time for such close contact. He drags a throw pillow into his lap just to be safe.

“Mm. I missed how warm you are while I were gone,” Pidge hums, nuzzling into him after taking a long sip of her soda. Shiro’s arm hovers above her shoulders, unsure of what to do, even when she leans back after setting her drink on the coffee table. He shoots her a look.

“Coaster, Katie,” he reminds her, the minor offense enough to make him momentarily forget about his current situation. Pidge returns his nagging with a huff and an eyeroll, but in the end does as he says. Of course, she has something to say, too.

“Why do you even care so much? It’s just a table, you know. Plus it’s old.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Is there one?”

_“Katie.”_

“Okay, okay, fiiiiine. Sacred table. Got it,” she concedes. Shiro can’t help but chuckle. Guard down, he lets his arm fall back around her, until he realizes what he’d just done and goes rigid. Pidge looks over at him.

“Something wrong?”

Shiro shakes his head.

Pidge glances from him, to the pillow in his lap, then back up at him. Shiro feels himself starting to sweat. Despite her obvious doubt, Pidge doesn’t question him further, just shrugs and turns her attention back to the television where she’s already got a video loaded up and ready to play. Shiro breathes a soft sigh of relief.

It’s easier to relax watching animals be rescued and rehabilitated rather than torn to shreds, and Shiro finds himself happily distracted in no time; so it’s without realization that his hand eventually falls from Pidge’s shoulders to wrap around her side, and it’s with no real thought that he starts to rub small, uncommitted circles into Pidge’s waist with his thumb, just beneath the hem of her tank top. It’s mindless, just something to do while he grins along at the heartwarming stories on TV, and he’s not even aware that he’s doing it—until Pidge’s hand suddenly finds his thigh once more and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Katie,” he starts, but soon falters. She’s not paying him any attention at all. From this position, Shiro finds that, once again, he has the perfect view down the front of her tank top. He swallows. “Katie, your—”

Pidge hushes him, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze. The arousal from earlier that he’d just finally managed to wrangle under control comes crashing back down over him in a wave of pins and needles down his spine. “You worry too much,” is all she says after a painfully long minute of nothing else, eyes still ahead on the television screen.

Shiro stares at her, mouth agape. He’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but something tells him it’s a hint—a sign to continue, that it’s _okay._ Maybe. He tests this theory by hesitantly resuming those small circles, only daring to lean in closer when she hums a soft sound of approval; and when she responds to his hand inching up beneath her shirt by inconspicuously tilting her head to bare her neck, he dares further to steal a quick kiss at the skin just below her ear. The way Pidge sucks in her breath goes straight to his dick.

_“Katie.”_ The name rolls off his tongue, sounding almost as desperate as he feels. Finally, he has her attention, deceivingly innocent honey-brown eyes looking back at him, accompanied by that infamous little curl of her lips. Whatever sliver of restraint he had left instantly dissolves and he dives back in to press even more soft, hungry kisses down the column of her neck.

“I’m guessing you’re not really in the mood for TV,” Pidge jokes. Shiro answers by nipping gently at her collarbone, which earns him a giggle as Pidge tries to curl in on herself. “Hey! That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says, though he isn’t. He keeps her still with his hand on her stomach and kisses the shell of her ear. “I’ve really missed you, Katie,” he whispers against it, low and wanting. Pidge, as he’d hoped she would, practically melts.

“Then… prove it,” she demands, her usual bravado undermined by the shakiness in her voice. Shiro is more than willing to oblige, accepting them first with an eager, passionate kiss, before returning to work on her neck, this time with the added objective of leaving his mark. The hand he has on her stomach begins to inch down towards the waistband of her boxers. Pidge smirks. “Hey now, did I say you could—!” She gasps when he suddenly forces her thighs apart.

“Sorry,” Shiro apologizes again, this time meaning it when Pidge hisses and recoils when he finds her sex; but he doesn’t let her get away, following her as she sinks into the couch. He knows that the chill of his metal hand might not exactly be ideal in this situation, and usually he’d be more concerned, but right now he can’t help it—he wants her too much.

“No, it’s okay. Don’t be,” she assures him, quickly relaxing into his warming touch. She bites her lip when he dips one of his fingers into her, up to the first knuckle, feeling how wet she is—very. He spreads her juices around her opening, making her squirm. “I was just s-surprised. It’s— _mmm_ —fine.”

“I can switch if you want,” he offers.

“No!” she panics, latching onto his wrist. Shiro looks at her. Pidge swallows and eases her grip when he doesn’t move. “I mean, don’t… don’t stop,” she tells him, words falling off into a whisper. She pushes his hand further down against her heat and grinds against the heel of his palm for emphasis.

It’s like a fuse shorts in Shiro’s head.

The pillow in Shiro’s lap falls to the floor when he resettles himself on his side, dragging Pidge’s boxers down to her knees for better access. This time he doesn’t hesitate to slide a finger into her, which quickly turns to two, making Pidge’s eyes flutter shut as she drops her head back with a content sigh. Shiro watches her in awe, unable to decide whether to focus on how easily she takes his fingers or how cute she looks with her cheeks flushed bright red.

“God, you’re beautiful, Katie,” he whispers, watching as she comes undone. Beneath the sounds of her moans and lip-bitten sighs, he can hear just how wet she is with each thrust of his fingers, which shine with her juices when he pulls them out. He licks his lips. What he wouldn’t give to be able to truly feel her, to feel how warm and velvety soft she is with his real hand and not his cybernetic one, but at least it’s not all bad; Pidge is quite enthusiastic about his robotic prosthetic, after all— _especially_ during times like these.

“I hate that you have to leave so often. And this last time—that was too long,” he continues in between kisses. Pidge is too far gone to reciprocate them gracefully. “And even with you back… you have no idea how hard it’s been. How much I’ve wanted to touch you.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“What?”

“If you wanted to touch me so bad, then why haven’t you?”

“Because—” Shiro stops. “Because you’ve been tired. I didn’t want to push you.” His other hand comes up to cup her cheek in a desperate attempt to get his point across, how much he loves her, how he never wants to burden her. Pidge, picking up from where Shiro left off, continues to fuck herself down on his fingers with little care for his reservations. “Katie—”

“You really need to stop worrying about me so much, Shiro. If I don’t want something, I’ll tell you—I can handle myself, you know,” she scolds him through labored breaths. “You’re too nice.”

Shiro sinks his teeth into Pidge’s shoulder and curls his fingers in response, instantly draining the fight right out of her and eliciting a loud, wet _squelch_ that makes him strain against his sweatpants even more. Pidge whimpers as he runs his tongue over the bitemark.

He fingers her until all she can do is screw her eyes shut and remember to breathe. Even when he can feel the pressure of her squeezing around him and she’s a sweat-slicked, moaning mess, he doesn’t ease up; and when she tries in vain to close her legs when it becomes too much for her to handle, he doesn’t let her; until right when he can swear she’s almost at her tipping point, she’s suddenly shoving at his shoulder and gasping for him to stop.

A sense of dread settles over him. “Katie? Are you okay? Did I—”

“Relax, Shiro. I’m _fine._ Promise, _”_ she says, putting his greatest fear to rest before it can get out of hand. Flustered, she pushes herself back up on the couch, wincing when she settles; his fingers are still inside of her. “It’s just… um…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

_“I have to pee,”_ she whispers as if it’s the most scandalous thing she’s ever said—which it isn’t, not by a longshot. Still, it sends a jolt of electricity down Shiro’s spine as if it were. “And if you keep doing that—ah!” She gasps. “Shiro! Did you even hear what I just said!”

He did, but it’s not enough to deter him from curling his fingers over and over and over again, until she’s whining for him to quit messing around and to “knock it off already!” He doesn’t—until he presses up a little too hard and Pidge finally breaks, hips stuttering as she comes on his fingers. Something trickles down them to pool in his palm.

“Oh my god.” Pidge buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Shiro tries to hush her, but she cringes at his touch. “Katie—”

“I _told_ you to stop! Now look what happened! The couch is ruined, and—” She freezes, eyes blown wide. “Your hand,” she says, voice suddenly soft and small and full of shame. “Oh my god, Shiro, I’m—I’m so sorry, _oh my god.”_

“Katie, the couch is fine. It was barely anything. Don’t worry about that,” he assures her, “and—hey, look at me—you don’t need to be sorry, alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But—!”

“It’s fine. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He offers her a sympathetic smile, which quickly devolves into something more sheepish. He clears his throat. “Ah, actually, if I’m being completely honest…” It was kind of hot. “It… wasn’t so bad.”

Pidge blinks. “What?”

“When you—did that. I, um. I kind of liked it.”

“When I _peed_ on you?” she asks incredulously. Shiro curls the fingers he still has inside of her to prove a point. She gasps, squeezing her legs shut. “Shiro!” she shouts. “Jesus, are you _trying_ to make me pee all over you?”

“I wouldn’t be against it.”

Pidge studies him, clearly at odds about how she should feel about this; if she should even believe him. Shiro pushes his own embarrassment aside to try and make her understand that he’s being honest. “Here,” he says, shifting closer. He ruts up against her hip, letting her feel the truth for herself. “See? I’m not… I’m not lying.”

“You’re being serious?” It’s rhetorical, of course, because the answer couldn’t possibly be any clearer. She reaches down to feel him for herself, carefully running her palm along the rigid line in his sweatpants. Shiro groans and twitches under her investigative touch, desperate for more friction that never comes. “You’re really…” She swallows. “How come you never said anything before?”

“I never really knew I was into it.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “Well, is it something you’d… want to try?”

As quick as he’d been to reassure Pidge that everything was alright, he’s too ashamed to admit his own desires out loud. Pidge seems to pick up on this. She frees herself from his entrapment and stands.

“Come on,” she says, pulling him along. “I have an idea.” Confused, Shiro follows her lead, until it dawns on him just what she’s up to when they round the hall corner and a sense of nervous excitement fills his gut.

In the bathroom, Pidge orders him to strip and lie in the tub, which Shiro does with no questions asked. He watches her with bated breath as she shimmies out of her own clothes and straddles him, her sopping wet heat pressed flush against his stomach. When he leans up to finally bury his face between her small breasts like he’d been dying to do all evening, Pidge lets him knead and suckle at them for only a moment before she pushes him back down, urging him to bend his knees so he lies flat.

Having to relinquish his hold on her breasts is upsetting, but his hands soon find solace on the insides of her thighs, eagerly spreading her open with his thumbs so that he doesn’t miss the show. From his position he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the thought of lapping at her pink, swollen clit. Pidge smacks his hands away.

“Stop staring!” she barks, cheeks bright red and hands balled into tiny, shaking fists against his chest. She’s nervous. Shiro lets his hands slide up to her hips instead, where he massages her encouragingly, eyes focused on her own even though they’re squeezed shut tight.

After what almost feels like a lifetime, he finally feels something hot gently begin to spread over his stomach, filling in the crevices of his muscles until they overflow and run down his sides. He wants to look so badly. With Pidge’s eyes still closed and her nearly finished, Shiro takes a chance, catching the last of it dribbling out to gather in the crease where Pidge’s thighs meet his waist, and he breathes—the sight is better than anything he could’ve imagined. He shifts, allowing it to escape in rivulets down his sides.

“Was that… was that weird?” Pidge asks when she finally cracks an eye open. Shiro wonders what he must look like right now, awestruck and captivated by the mess she’d made on him. She doesn’t yell at him for staring this time.

“No. I don’t think so,” he says. He wants to kiss her. “It was perfect.”

Pidge groans. “How can you say something like that with a straight face? I just _peed_ on you!”

“I’m only upset that you’re done already.” He laughs, hoping to lighten the mood and put her at ease. He presses a palm flat to her stomach with a playful smirk, but she swats it away. He drifts down to rub her clit instead. “…did it feel good?” he asks, softly.

“A little. Yeah,” she answers, just as quiet. She rocks her hips into his touch. “It… kinda felt like I was marking you, in a way.”

That makes Shiro throb. “You should mark me more.”

“How?”

He shows her by grabbing her hips, pulling and dragging her down hard against him. Pidge gasps at first, thighs shaking from the unexpected friction, but it’s only a second before she’s taking matters into her own hands and grinding against his abs on her own. Shiro, with his hands free once more, slides back up to fondle her breasts, breath taken and mesmerized with the sight before him: Pidge, hunched over above him with her eyes half-lidded and blunt fingernails digging into his shoulders, struggling to keep herself steady. When she comes she collapses forward onto his chest, head tucked up under his chin.

His own needs forgotten, Shiro’s arms automatically find their way around her and he rubs her back. He can feel her heart thumping wildly, undoubtedly mimicking his own, which is almost deafening amidst the silence. She mumbles something into his chest.

“—shi.”

“Huh?” Shiro cranes his neck to look at her. “I didn’t _—nngh!”_ His head bounces back off the floor of the tub when Pidge suddenly slides herself down, enveloping the head of his leaking cock inside of her. He can feel her ache around him.

“I said, come on, Takashi.” The unmistakable smirk in her voice is impossible to miss. She kisses his gasping mouth before moving to kiss at the underside of his jaw instead. Shiro moans, fighting to keep his hips still.

“Mmm. It’s okay, Takashi. Go ahead. Make yourself feel good.”

Shiro can’t help himself, not when she’s saying his name like that, a complete one-eighty from the bashful, embarrassed woman she’d been less than two minutes ago. His arms tighten around her, crushing her to his chest as he shallowly thrusts up into her with his nose buried in her hair. He doesn’t last long—only literal seconds before he spills inside of her—but Pidge caresses his cheek and tells him that he “did so good” either way. He shudders at the praise and closes his eyes, turning to kiss her palm before nuzzling further into it.

Her laughter pulls him out of his relaxed state.

“You’re pretty gross, you know that?”

“Sorry.” He seems to be saying that a lot tonight.

“I’m _kidding,_ Shiro.” She pushes herself to sit upright. Shiro hisses, half-hard and sensitive and still fully seated inside of her. She huffs. “No, but like, for real— _we’re_ gross. Thank god we’re already in the shower.”

Shiro has to agree, now that his mind is clear and he can think straight. He props himself up on his elbows and frowns, looking around at the mess they’d made; a shower definitely seems to be in order.

Ever the mind reader, Pidge stands and sets to work on fumbling with the faucets, angling the showerhead away so that the two of them aren’t sprayed with icy cold water. Shiro follows her lead, but not before taking notice of his milky white seed running down the inside of her thigh. A renewed sense of arousal mixed with disappointment settles in his gut, upset to know that _that’s_ going to get washed away, too; until he remembers that Pidge doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow.

Or the next day.

Or the day after that.

Shiro molds himself to her back and hums against her neck when she finally finds the right temperature. The both of them desperately need this shower—there’s absolutely no doubt about it—but it’s nice to know that he’ll have plenty of time to make her dirty again, at least a little.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally cannot look at this without wanting to fling myself into the sun I am SO SORRY I'm going to church first thing tomorrow morning and repenting for my sins.


End file.
